Battle Born
by EmilyStark
Summary: Fresh from Harvard, Elena must take up the position of defense lawyer for a Damon Salvatore, stamped with a possible death sentence. He slowly begins to obsess over the strong-willed brunette.The clock is ticking. AH/AU/Rated M/Slightly Dark
1. Battle Born

**A/N: Bonjour, my fellow readers. I will be slipping away from the pregnancy storyline for this story (and probably the next couple); it's been feeling like been-there-done-that. I really, really hope you guys like this one. **

**Summary:**

**Fresh from Harvard, Elena must take up the position of defense lawyer for a Damon Salvatore, stamped with a possible death sentence. The clock is ticking.**

**Note:**

**There is some **_**dark**_** material in here, linking to the horror film **_**Silence of the Lambs**_**. There won't be any cannibalism, I swear. Just bits of the storyline.**

* * *

**Battle Born**

* * *

"You fly back to school now, little bird. Fly, fly, fly..."

She shot up, stockstill, breath choppy and labored. The morning sun rays licked the sheets, drawing her deep brown eyes to the window. How strange it felt to wake up not to the heart attack of the alarmclock she fared every morning for the past five years, but to her own cries.

Reliving those dreadful childhood years never suited well for her; it would only result in the pool of depression to grow deeper. Deep, twisting thuds in her temples grew stronger by the second. Her feet glided across to the edge of the mattress where they slipped off to land on the hardwood floor. Shivers danced across her skin, the coldness getting to her.

The thudding of her feet led her to the bathroom where she numbly opened the medicine cabinet. Her hand reached up and grabbed the headache medicine. She popped the cap off and poured two of the circular pills into her palm.

She placed the medicine on the middle of her tongue, drew some water from the faucet and threw her head back to swallow the ghastly pills. The horrible aftertaste twisted her face, no matter how hard she tried to push it aside. Re-capping the bottle, she placed it back on the shelf, her hand accidentally brushing and knocking another bottle over.

With a sigh she picked the bottle up, seeing the black words typed onto the bottle:

**Elena Gilbert**

**Antidepressant**

**Once a Day**

The lump in her throat grew, nearly choking her. Swallowing, she set the bottle upright and continued her morning routine.

Inside the safe confines of her Ford, she tossed her briefcase into the backseat before starting the car. Once she reached the second-to-last traffic light she ran through her mental agenda. "Meeting with Mr. Mikaelson: 9 o'clock sharp." She dreaded every meeting with Mr. Mikaelson, or Mikael as he insisted every client to address him as.

The firm was close to empty when she arrived, fresh-faced and a bright smile playing on her lips. She passed by her secretary's desk, much to the blonde's chagrin.

Setting her briefcase on her desk, she popped open the locks and retrieved her legal pad. Her fingertips ran across the yellow, unused paper, bright and welcoming.

"Good morning, Ms. Gilbert."

She inwardly narrowed her eyes before setting that same faux smile onto her lips as she looked up from her desk, "Good morning, Mr. Mikaelson."

His blue eyes shone with mirth, and oh, how she wanted to wipe that smirk off his lips, "Please, call me Klaus, as I've insisted every day."

Her smirk fell, needing to get him out of her office, "I have a meeting just about now, _Mr. Mikaelson_."

She never felt more proud when his face fell, eyes dull and full of disappointment. He nodded briskly before turning on his heels and walking out. Grabbing her pen, she quickly labeled the top of the notepad with 'Meeting with Mr. Mikaelson' before quickly gathering the necessities. Walking past her secretary and the lines of desks, she kept her fingers crossed that this would be the promotion she so desperately wanted, no, needed.

She stopped at the desk closest to his office and inhaled sharply. Ever since she was a little girl she wanted to defend those who were truly innocent, and now, she could. She stepped forwards, lightly knocking on the Oak door.

There was shuffle of papers before the deep voice boomed, "Come in."

Her fingers gripped the handle and pushed it downwards. The door slithered open before she slipped inside, gently closing it behind her. "Good morning, sir," She politely greeted, standing before her boss with his graying blond hair and bright blue eyes.

He nodded, "Take a seat, Ms. Gilbert."

She sat in the auburn chair, feeling small in comparison to the size of the seat. She gripped her pen tighter, her breath coming in ragged waves. He shifted before digging through his pockets to retrieve a key. He placed the key into the lock and the drawer slid open.

She watched as he brought out a newspaper she recognized as the New York Times, and slid it across to her. There plastered on the front page was the face of the well-known suspected murderer, his hands cuffed behind his back. Yet the picture failed to reveal his face. Her eyes shifted upwards to the headline, "_State to Seek Justice with Murderer."_

"Tell me, what do you know about this case?" He asked, hand supporting his chin.

She kept her eyes on the picture of the man, "Suspect reportedly murdered Katherine Pierce on February 8th. He was apprehended and interrogated immediately following the discovery of the body. The police are keeping his identity under lock-and-key until the trial. I don't understand why, though." Her eyebrows furrowed, finally glancing up to her employer.

He nodded, smirking in satisfaction, "Indeed, Ms. Gilbert." He reached back into the drawer to retrieve another file, "Would you please shut the blinds."

She nodded, slightly confused and shut the black blinds before sitting back down. He slid the folder towards her, seeing a single, dreadful words stamped in red.

**Classified**

Her eyes darted up to him warily, "What is this?"

He crossed his arms, leaning back into the chair, "Your new case."

* * *

She had been given the rest of the day off to do further research into the baffling case. She had yet to open the file, too afraid to see what may lay inside. Once she took a seat in the back of the library, she set the file on the wooden table, pushing it to the side so she could concentrate on the stacks of reports before her.

Hours passed, the small lamp above her switched on. Her eyes had begun to droop as she reached the tail end of the reports. There were hundreds of photographs of evidence and at least ten pages of police and investigator reports. A yawn shook her body, her arm going limp against her head before falling onto the table. She expected a jolt of soft pain to go through her, yet something had cushioned the fall.

Her eyes traveled downwards, seeing with utter horror that it had landed on the classified file. She's never handled a case of this velocity. Her trembling fingers lifted up the folder. Gently, as if it might break at any second, she opened the cream-colored file. Inside laid a detailed biography on the defendant. She skimmed across the biography, finding it hard to believe that a person with such a lavish lifestyle would commit such a murder. She flipped the pages, finding a criminal record, upon other things.

Flipping back to the biography, she glanced to the top of the page, seeing in bolded lettering the name of the accused:

**SALVATORE, DAMON**

* * *

She didn't sleep a wink that night, too busy reading through every biography, every newspaper clipping, every report. She was surprised to find not a single picture of him. She nearly had a panic attack when she found herself doubting his innocence, one thing a defense attorney shouldn't do.

When she arrived at work the following morning she made a beeline straight to his office. She didn't even bother knocking, too tired to do so. Marching inside, she kept her hands on her hips, "How do you expect me to defend him when it's an open-and-shut case?"

He didn't bother glancing up from his work, which infuriated her, "Why do you ask such a question, Ms. Gilbert? Do you believe he is guilty?"

She grew silent, her brave facade crumbling, "Well...I-I'm not sure."

He chuckled, "Well then, why don't you march back out of my office and visit Mr. Salvatore."

Stockstill, her eyes widened, "But sir, there's just so much stacked against him. He doesn't have an alibi that we're aware of, he had a motive. There's just too many negatives-"

He raised a hand to silence her, "Then I suggest you get in your car and drive to the prison."

Her eyes narrowed before realizing that he was not joking. Nodding she walked out his office, as well as the building.

The drive was silent, radio switched off. She still could not fathom how she could possibly defend a man with so much against him. The dark, ominous prison soon came into view, sending unwelcomed shivers down her spine. The car halted at the small booth, two guards on either side of the front of her car, guns in plain sight. She gulped, quickly showing the guard her ID and pass.

He handed them back to her, seeing the obvious tension, "Good luck, Ms. Gilbert." The other guard laughed, buzzing her in.

She snickered, heels clicking against the pavement. Her quivering hand smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress-suit. She bit her lip, hoping the suit jacket wasn't too tight. Gripping the handle to her briefcase, she smiled politely at the guard, who in turn buzzed her in.

The dark, fenced walkway set a feeling of uneasiness in her. Oh how she prayed that she would walk out there alive.

* * *

She crossed her hands on the metal table, then crossed her ankles before realizing she looked unprofessional. She bit her lip, smoothing of the side of her jacket once again with a shaky hand.

"Someone's nervous," A deep velvet voice said. Her head snapped up, heart racing. There, with a guard behind, stood a tall man with mesmerizing blue eyes and jet black hair, a smirk playing on his lips. She was awestruck, not knowing how someone so handsome could do something so heinous.

The guard pushed him forward to the chair where he cuffed him to the table. He straightened his back, "If you need me, I will be just outside." She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, he would hear the waver in her voice.

As soon as the door shut, she directed her gaze to the mysterious man in front of her. His lips twisted into a smirk, "Hello, kitten."

A sudden burst of courage rushed through her veins, "You will address me only as Ms. Gilbert."

Damon shifted, hands folded, free of cuffs, "So, you're seriously my attorney?"

She nodded, wondering why he would ask that. What, did she not look like an attorney?

His face fell, "Well, fuck. I was hoping a guy, they do so much better."

She narrowed her eyes, "No one wanted to take your case, they all believe you're guilty."

The room filled with silence, nearly choking her.

"Do you?"

"What?" She asked, arms crossed.

His voice rose, "Do you believe I'm guilty?" There was an echo, sending shivers racing across her skin. He took notice of this, smirking inwardly.

"We'll have to see." She stood up, waving towards the guard to come back in.

Damon was taken aback, "Wait, you're not going to ask me anything else?"

"Nope," She gathered her briefcase, and began to walk out of the room.

"Whatever, little bird. You fly away now."

She felt sick to her stomach by his words, never wanting to hear them again. The drove home was silent, radio switched off.


	2. Head Held High

**A/N: Emily just sent this to me, so guys please be kind because she is updating multiple stories during her maternity leave. -Jocelyn**

**(Chapter finished: May 31, 2013)**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

**Head Held High**

* * *

"I trust that you met with prisoner #531142?" An inquisitive tone shocked her, sending her coffee from her hand and straight onto her white skirt. The voice hissed an apology as she barked out strings of curses. She cursed her damn coffee, her damn daydreaming, and that damn mysterious Salvatore man for being the reason for her dreamy state which led to this literal mess.

She grabbed the napkin next to her apple on the desk and began desperately trying to rid the skirt of the stain. With a sigh of defeat, she glanced up to the towering figure, seeing two steely-blue eyes, "Yes, Mr. Mikaelson."

He nodded, "You may head home, Ms. Gilbert, but I expect you to arrive back no later than three," She mumbled words of agreement, "Sorry 'bout the skirt," and walked back to his gloomy office.

The office seemed dead, everyone either researching for a case or doing some ambulance chasing. When you're a lawyer, those two options become your only way of making it to the top. She never favored ambulance chasing, found it despicable, but unfortunately realized that attorneys will do anything to climb the ladder to the clouds.

Her heart was still racing from the adrenaline rush she received from the shock, when she reached her car. She fumbled around her purse for her car keys, but quickly put two-and-two together. On the verge of a mental breakdown, she located her anxiety pills and gripped them. She never intended on swallowing those ghastly tablets.

Instead, Elena just gripped the bottle as if it were a reassurance to the growing anxiety stirring within her very being. Ever since visiting the fearsome prison and its eerie inhabitant, her paranoia grew to immeasurable lengths, even awaking her in the dead middle of night, a scream bursting from her lips.

Taking two steps at a time, she ventured back into the office, finding it even emptier than before. Her breathing calmed as she noticed Mr. Mikaelson's door shut. Walking up to her desk, she spotted the glint of her keys beneath the desk and squatted to reach them.

_Ding!_

She immediately straightened, keys in hand as she heard the unmistakable _ding_ of her email. The chair let out a groan when she plopped down, fidgeting with the mouse until the computer screen went from pitch black to the screensaver. Moving the cursor towards the email box, she double-clicked, watching as the countless emails popped up, all listed from most recent to oldest.

At the very top was a highlighted email, recently sent to her from an unspecified user. Intrigued, she opened the email, finding a disturbing message:

_Dear Little Bird,_

_I thoroughly relished your visit to my obscure world._

_Maybe next time you'll bring your wits_

_because, my dear, that was quite a show you put on._

_I can see right through your faux mask,_

_see the lost little girl within you._

_I can't wait until I get to wrap my hands around_

_your throat and thoroughly dissect your brain._

_I need to know what makes you tick, Little Bird._

Her hand fell limp at her side, keys colliding with the tiled floor.

* * *

"Hey, sicko!" The guard mocked, a tray in hand, "Eat up!" He tossed the tray into the cell, the food landing onto the bacteria-infested ground.

The man sat in the chair in the center of the cell, his head hung low, remained still. His eyes found the guard, lips curling up into a vicious smile. The guard, standing at 6 feet and five inches, shivered. The man had frightened every single guard who had duty in Holes Section A.

The raven-haired man had been the first to be committed to Section A, which meant the prisoners of this section were the most brutal according to their charges. From what he heard, the man before him had torn the throat of the victim and stuck her heart down a garbage disposal, grinding it to pieces before sitting calmly in a puddle of her blood, waiting for the police to arrive.

The warden had wanted to stick him in with a cellmate, but the prosecutor had warned against it, citing previous brutal cases of this degree. Damon had secretly snickered at the guards, loving their faces when he creeped the hell out of them.

The moment he arrived in this hell hole, he had closed his eyes and switched off every emotion he contained. And he had thought that he would remain that way, emotionless and stoic, that is until that…that woman…She had certainly worked a number on him.

Oh, the way her hair shimmered in the light- No, he mustn't think like that. She doesn't even believe in him.

* * *

"Sir!" Elena called out, stock-still, "Mr. Mikaelson!" Her body was slightly convulsing, the anxiety wracking her body.

The door to Mr. Mikaelson's office flung open, revealing a panic-stricken man with his tie undone and hanging loosing around his neck.

"What? What's wrong?" He rushed to her desk, kneeling by her side, ignoring the stabbing pain where he had been shot in the back in Vietnam. The way her face seemed to be twisted into an expression of fear had jolts of dread hitting him square in the heart.

When she remained unresponsive he gripped her shoulders, spinning her towards him. Shaking her lightly, he repeated, "What's wrong?"

Her mouth formed an 'o' before she finally broke out of her panic attack to breathily mutter, "Read." His eyes followed her pointed finger towards the computer screen.

With each sentence he read, his eyes burned with anger. He abruptly stood, "You're not working this case. It's too dangerous," He paced while heads started popping up from random corners of the office to catch a glimpse of the debacle, "I-I'll assign Carver to the case."

Elena shook her head, standing tall, "I already know too much, sir. It would be hazardous to involve someone as inexperienced as Carver," She stopped him from saying the name she knew he would suggest, "Or Steeland."

He ran his thumb over his top lip, a habit he does when he's agitated. With a sigh he said, "Fine. You stay on the case, but I'm requesting a police presence for you."

She sat, "May I request Sergeant Donovan? He was there for the Rosmester case."

He took a seat on the edge of her desk, keeping his eyes directed to the window, "Right, the Rosmester case," He let out a nervous chuckle, "You just can't escape trouble, can you?"

"What can I say? I'm a walking magnet for 'bad boys.'" She smiled sadly, reflecting inwardly on her past run-ins with convicts who took up a strange obsession for her. She shivered, watching as Mr. Mikaelson stood.

"Secure that email and send it to Donovan. I'll contact his captain."

* * *

"Whatever, little bird. You fly away now."

She bolted upright in bed, breaking out into a cold sweat. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, her head pounding. Her ears were ringing, her head hurt, her heart hurt.

"Ow." She cradled both sides of her head, stepped out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. The medicine cabinet seemed so far away. Ungh, so far…

"My little bird."

She spun around, already in a defense position, hands raised and feet locked onto the ground. The room was empty.

_Am I losing it?_

The pounding in her head grew. She rubbed her temples before turning back towards the open medicine cabinet. Ignoring the bottle that seemed to be calling out to her, she searched for the Advil. In frustration, she went to grip the bottle, winding up knocking it to the floor.

"Dammit!"

She crouched down, reaching to retrieve the bottle which had rolled between the wastebasket and the toilet.

"Little Bird!"

She abruptly snapped her head up, harshly making brutal contact with the sink. And just like that- complete darkness.

Before the blackness consumed her, she could've swore she saw a black-haired figure sitting on the edge of her bed, silently watching her.

* * *

**A/N: A bit short, but a lot accomplished.**

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